


Dabaq

by akissontitan



Category: the adventure zone
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, sweet tender intimacy bc theyre married & in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 05:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10430352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akissontitan/pseuds/akissontitan
Summary: And the howl of the world is ignorably dimwith your name on my tongue,when your sighs are my hymns.Two very busy ladies make time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> More goddess lovin': less poetic, more literal edition.
> 
> (For the uninitiated, dabaq is a Hebrew word used to describe the way ruth clung to naomi in the bible, as in, the way lovers hold each other, and not to get #real, but that word gave me so much hope when I needed it.)

_And the howl of the world is ignorably dim_  
_with your name on my tongue,_  
_when your sighs are my hymns._

\--

Sharing dominion with a hundred other old gods, each with their own agenda and alignment, can get… _complicated_ , if a clear line of communication isn't maintained.

For eons, the major and minor deities have met around the same table at semi-regular intervals, to mediate and initiate and discuss the happenings of their realm.

Their necessity does nothing to make these meetings less tedious, however.

Time isn't very strictly adhered to around here, but it feels like Pan has been talking _forever_ , and you never particularly liked him anyway, so it's easy to let your attention drift to the other side of the long, ornate table you're sat at.

Istus is opposite you, your _Raven Queen of the Astral Plane_ placeholder just inches from her _Istus, Lady of Fate_ one. You're _sure_ that the seating arrangement is at least partially Lastai's influence, because some goddesses of romance apparently just can't help but _meddle_ , but you can't complain about the outcome. Having her there gives you something beautiful to look at, while Pan continues to monologue.

She catches your stare and gives you a soft smile, which _shouldn't_ set your soul so alight after all this time, but it _does_. She always looks so lovely in her mortal shape, and at all other times, really, but the thought of getting to see the twinkle in her human-shaped eyes always makes the idea of shoving your form into your own mortal body for the sake of these awful meetings a little more bearable.

You rest one elbow on the table, cheek in your palm, and wink at her.

She hides a crooked grin behind her hand, and casts her eyes back to whoever's countering Pan's argument about _the uptight ethical rhetoric of god/maiden relationships_ , or something. For a second, you think you've lost her attention, until a bare foot finds your ankle.

Istus is _not_ the kind of lady to graze her toes any higher than your knee, but you _wish_ she was.

She does, however, meet your gaze again after a moment, and flick her (lovely, deep brown) eyes towards the door. And, well. That's good enough for you.

You push your chair back and stand, sending apologetic glances to the deities nearby. "Bathroom break," you smile, "you know how these mortal bodies are." That earns you a smattering of chuckles from the table, and you leave promptly.

(You hope she's watching your ass as you go. You like your ass, in this form.)

The halls of the meeting space are completely bland in decor compared to your own aesthetic tastes, but the lack of gothic finery is for once far from your mind. You slip into the first washroom you see, thankfully empty, and wait.

Istus does not keep you waiting long. You suppose that's her whole _thing_ , after all.

"Don't you think leather shorts are a little unprofessional for a business meeting?" She quirks a brow at you, but she's smiling, and you're as smitten as you've ever been.

"And yet it was _you_ who couldn't _leave room for the gods_ back there under the table," you tease, striding forward until you've got her almost backed against the door. Then, softer; "I shan't be shamed for missing my wife."

She cranes her neck down (you should have worn taller heels), and kisses you, soft and sweet as she always has been, and ever will be.

If you both make a small sound at the contact, neither of you mention it.

You lay a hand on the softest point of her waist. "Forever putting the rest of us to shame," another kiss, and then another yet, "your mortal form is so breathtaking, every time."

She hums, warm and happy, and brings a hand up to pet your hair beneath your circlet. "I have to look approachable for my Childen, you know that."

Approachable doesn't even begin to cover it - she is soft and round and dressed in an ankle-length gown made from lace knotted so intricately you'd almost be afraid to wreck it, except for the fact that you really _aren't_. The blue-black of your own skin is dull compared to the warmth of hers. You can tell why they call her _the colourless and all-coloured_ \- everything of her is an infinity. She is approachable, kissable, loveable, _beautiful_.

Your lips find a certain spot on her neck, and Istus gasps. "They'll wonder where we went…" she starts, as if she's trying to discourage herself.

"Oh darling," you chuckle, free hand finding her wrist and curling over it with a brief drag of your long nails you know she likes, "I don't think anyone is _wondering_."

She blushes, and _oh_ , you forgot bodies could do that. You kiss her cheek, leaving a trace of a deep red stain, though most of your lipstick has been worn away on her neck and mouth already.

"Come, precious," you whisper, fingers continuing to tease the soft skin of her arm, "let me have you."

"Oh," she curls her face into your neck, embarrassed and gentle, "you already do."

You know you should try to be _quick_ , but you can't help but take your time as you kiss a path down her chest until you reach fabric. The hand on her waist finds its way between her legs, over her dress, and even just that limited contact has her hips rolling into your palm.

In these bodies, you aren't _supposed_ to be able to speak in any way but verbally, but sometimes the two of you still manage it. You send the briefest flash of an image into Istus' mind, of you kneeling, her dress runched up around her belly-- she sends back nothing but enthusiasm and _want_.

"Oh, if my acolytes could see me now," you bemoan playfully between kisses to her thighs as you kneel, "I'd be down thousands of followers."

Her fingers find your hair again, and you feel your circlet being lifted off your head. When you look up, it's on Istus' own, balanced atop her headscarf. "Why? Because your fanclub might realise you're no longer _available_?"

You snort in laughter against the give of her thigh. "Now, now, jealousy doesn't suit you, my love."

She laughs, and her smile reveals dimples. You gather her skirts and push them up higher still. She is uncovered below them, and nothing impedes you from leaning in to taste her.

Immediately she moans, but so do you. Bodies are so limited, but they provide a sensitivity and receptiveness you rarely otherwise encounter. She tastes like a mortal, but she is your _wife_ and you know better than anyone that she is so much more.

A leg comes to rest over your shoulder, giving you easier access, and you make the most of it, free hand curling around the ample fat of her thigh as you press your mouth to her and suck.

Istus is rarely loud in any circumstance, which you are glad for. Her moans of pleasure are just for you, the way her vocal chords warble when you hit the right spot are your reward.

You're suddenly wishing your body's nails weren't so long that slipping them inside her would hurt her. You make do with your tongue, though, letting the pad of your thumb find her clit and rub _soft, teasing_ , how she likes it.

Wetness trickles down to your chin as she gasps a _"right there"_ , so you lave her with your tongue again, dragging it from where she splits, down to her entrance and back again, until you feel her start to tremble. Your arms brace her against the door, nails digging into her thigh maybe a _little_ possessively, as she comes entirely for you. Beautiful, pliant, _soft_ human form suddering and clenching around what feels like every inch of you.

Eventually she stills. You press wet kisses to the junction of her thigh, her thatch of hair, her hips. You feel like you've run a marathon.

"I forget how easily wrecked _bodies_ are," she breathes, easing her leg off your shoulder and smoothing her skirts, "I feel like I've run a marathon."

You are too breathless yourself to remark that you both just shared a thought again, unintentionally this time. Instead, you raise yourself on shaky knees and kiss her, slow and deep and lovely, because _every_ kiss with her is lovely.

When you part, she crowns you with your own circlet, and bats your nose with a finger. "Can I offer you a favour in return, dear Raven Queen?"

You nod, smiling, and kiss her again, just because you love her and you _can_.

It feels like no time before you're the one crowded against the bathroom wall. She is sturdy enough to support you when you wrap your legs around her waist, and nimble enough with her fingers that she makes quick work of the clasp of your shorts.

Her hand finds the core of you over top of your panties - because _some of us_ have a degree of class - and you buck into the touch. She is never rough, but the friction is a _heavenly_ burn, causing your legs to twitch minutely.

"Soon I won't be quite so busy," she whispers between kisses into your flushed-warm neck, "and I'll come visit you, and dear Kravitz, and that lovely bed of yours. Every day."

"Every day," you repeat weakly, although _days_ really couldn't have less meaning to you, especially right now. Her fingers slip inside the seam of your panties, and it seems at least one of you anticipated this and chose to manifest short fingernails. Of _course_ it would be her.

Istus swallows each of your gasps with kisses, two fingers curled inside you as you curl around her in kind. When she reaches her free hand up to pinch and twist a nipple, you're _done for_ , grinding your clit against her hand as you come so hard you see stars.

(You see stars constantly, from your position overseeing the Astral. The constellations she milks from you are always so much better.)

Istus keeps hold of your waist once she lowers you down. You're glad for it, weak as your mortal legs feel.

"We should get back." She whispers between kisses to your jaw.

"Pointless." You sneak air into your lungs. "We know what's going to happen. The elemental deities will bicker over when to start the next season, Obad-Hai will pinch all the good sandwiches at lunch, we'll go home and miss each other terribly for another small eternity. Same every time."

She giggles at that, which pleases you. "Sounds positively tragic." Her arms wrap further around your waist, until you're pressed together and blooming warm with familiarity. "Still. You're going to come back with me."

You roll your eyes. "Stop seeing the future."

"I _can't!_ "

"Fine, _O Mighty Istus_ , Lady of Fate, since you already know what I'm going to say next, maybe I just shan't say it."

Your wife brings her face close to yours, foreheads touching, and you curse your human form for being unable to hide your grin.

"I love you too." She whispers, and it's more fulfilling than any prayer.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on twitter [@ nycreous!!](http://twitter.com/nycreous)
> 
> I would really love to hear your thoughts on this one, guys!! What was your favourite line? Did you enjoy the tone?? Are you as in love with these two as i am??! Comments of all kinds make my day. <3


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